


Long Time Coming.

by hendollana



Series: Overjoyed [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Some angst but not really, im so sorry for this, its ben okay ben pines hard for trent as we all do, its so self indulgent, marbella training camps inspire me to be selfish, mentions of other liverpool players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hendollana/pseuds/hendollana
Summary: Ben thinks maybe he’s selfish but he’s so tired of pretending that he’s fine with just being Trent’s best pal, he’s so tired of pretending all these meaningless touches to Trent don’t have meaning to him.





	Long Time Coming.

**Author's Note:**

> the working title for this was 'i have no self respect' which i think says it all.
> 
> but alas, please enjoy even though it was written in a day and a half and is arguably my worst work. the things i do to write a ship only i ship djdhf
> 
> title from Justin Stone.

Marbella wasn’t as sunny as Ben had been expecting, granted he’d spent the past few weeks moping about in his house and only venturing out for rehab at Melwood and to watch Liverpool’s games, but any sun was nice. He was currently in a recovery session, passing the ball between him and Studge and sneaking longing glances over at the training going on across from him. Ben would hesitate to say he’s sad, but it’s been so god damn long since he played a match, even longer since he played for Liverpool, that he can’t help but be a bit pissed off that he’s injured and miles away from even being on the bench let alone playing first team football. So maybe he was a little bit sad, but it was better than being at Sheffield United – playing no football and having no friends. At least here at Liverpool he was home, he had friends and family and he had Trent.

Ben couldn’t remember a time in his footballing career that he hadn’t been best friends with Trent Alexander-Arnold. Trent had already been at the Liverpool academy for three years when Ben joined, fresh-faced and scared, Trent had seen him standing off at the side-lines, a kit bag by his feet and hands nervously flicking the lid of his water bottle, and had instantly ran over to Ben, a wide grin covering his face. Trent had shown him around Kirkby that day, pointing out all the places that are great for hide-and-seek, and had made sure Ben’s place in the changing room was right next to his. Ben supposed you could sort of say the rest had been history, they’d been glued to each other’s sides ever since, rising through the under levels until finally signing professional contracts together and joining the first team squad.

However, Ben could remember the first time he’d looked at Trent and felt something _different_. It had eaten away at him for weeks until one U18’s game in which he netted a hattrick and Trent - his best friend, his _captain_ \- had looked at him with eyes filled with pride and happiness and _love_ and Ben had wanted to do nothing but kiss him. The different feeling stopped eating away at him after that and started annoying him instead, because it was just Ben’s luck to be a gay footballer with a crush on his teammate. Still, he was hardly going to let Trent know about either of his newest discoveries, no, Ben was happy to keep Trent as his friend and pine over him silently from a distance.

Three years later and that’s still exactly what Ben’s doing.

“Oi, Woody.” Sturridge’s voice called, startling Ben out of his melancholy reminiscing. Ben’s eyes reached up to find Studge’s only to see him staring at the stationary ball between Ben’s feet, that Ben could only guess had been there during his whole internal monologue.

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

Daniel smiles a little, “It’s fine bro, we’re pretty much done anyway,” he walks over and picks the ball at Ben’s feet up, twirling it a little before looking Ben in the eyes, “You alright?”

Ben can’t help but let his eyes drift from Studge’s to Trent next door to them, who’s now also finished his training session and is helping put the cones away. Typical helpful Trent, Ben thinks.

Thankfully Studge doesn’t interpret his yearning look correctly, “Ah, missing proper training? Don’t worry about it, we’ll be back soon.”

Ben excepts the mistake gracefully, turning his head from Trent’s laughing face, and schooling his features into a grateful look.

“Yeah, I know, back and better than ever.” Ben’s words are half-hearted, with little conviction behind them but Studge seems to believe him and returns his smile before throwing the ball he was holding into Ben’s hands.

“Go on then, go get changed and do some sun bathing, lord knows your pale ass needs it.” Studge grins, jogging away to the entrance to the changing rooms before Ben can shove him.

“It’s thirteen degrees out Studge!” Ben manages to shout back, but Daniel is already halfway to the door and doesn’t so much as give him an over the shoulder glance.

Ben sighs out loud, spinning the ball between his hands, ready to fall back into his own head, unaware of Trent walking up behind him.

“What’re you sighing for, Benny?” Trent’s scouse accent drawls out, placing his hand on Ben’s shoulder. Which promptly jumps out from under Trent’s hand as Ben’s own hand rests on pounding heart as he spins around to face Trent.

“Jesus Christ.” Ben breathes out, still spooked from Trent’s silent approach.

“Yeah, not quite.”

Ben manages to actually shove Trent this time, “Ha-ha, very funny. Almost as funny as you trying to scare me to death there.”

Trent holds both his hands up, a faux innocent face perfected by years of getting out of trouble at Melwood, “I was loud enough walking up to you, it’s not my fault you’re in your own little world.”

“Yeah, one without you in it.” Ben mutters, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“Ben! How dare you?” Trent gasps, bringing his hands down to cover his mouth, “And to think I was going to invite you to my room to play FIFA with me after dinner.”

“We’re literally sharing a room, Trent.”

“Ah, true, but it’s my PlayStation and you need an invitation to play it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben smiles, “My sincerest apologies Lord Trent Alexander-Arnold, best right-back in the league, please may I play FIFA with you later?”

Trent lets out a loud laugh at this, his familiar wide grin making Ben’s stomach do a scorpion kick.

The smiles still on his lips as he replies, “Well, since you’re being so sweet, I guess you can oh loyal subject.”

Ben ducks his head a little, conscious of the blood rushing to his cheeks. Sweet, Trent called him sweet. Logically, Ben knows there’s not much to think into. Trent was just playing along with his joke, and even if he wasn’t the whole squad joke flirt with each other. But Ben knows there’s nothing logical about crushes, especially ones you’ve had for three years, so Trent calling him sweet provokes a blush and a stupid giggle to erupt from his mouth.

Ben moves his eyes upwards, looking at Trent from under his eyelashes, and God, now he’s really reading into it too much because he swears Trent is looking at him with _that_ look. The look that the main character in a movie gives their love interest when they think they’re not looking. But Ben is looking, and Trent hasn’t stopped giving him the look.

Now Ben’s just plain suspicious, “What? Is there something on my face or?”

Trent shakes his head, as if ridding himself of all thoughts and now the look is gone and replaced with the usual childlike cheeky grin, “No, just your nose, eyes, mouth, you know the usual,” Trent picks up the ball that’s still in Ben’s hands and throws it in the direction of the ball bags, “Come on, dinners in ten and Klopp will be pissed if we’re not seated before then.”

Ben won’t lie when he had hoped Trent had said something horribly clichéd and even more horribly romantic like, “Something on your face? No, you’re just really handsome.” And then maybe reached over, caressed his face and kissed him, all whilst giving him that fucking look.

But no, that’s just Ben’s more than wishful thinking that, really, he needs to snap out of. He nods his head firmly once, twice, before jogging to catch up with Trent who’s already getting both of their bikes and helmets ready.

Trent’s chucking him his helmet and picking up both of their kitbags and slinging them over his shoulder before Ben’s even picked up his bike that’s propped up on the fence of the training ground.

“Why are you taking my bag?”

Not that Ben didn’t appreciate it, not that his stomach wasn’t once again practising shots.

“Because you’re injured, idiot.”

Ben scoffs, partially in an attempt to hide his smile, “It’s not like I’ve got a broken arm, Trent. I can carry a bag.”

Trent leans his body around from where he’s sat on his bike, looking at Ben before sticking his tongue out at him, “Come get it then!”

And with that Trent’s off, peddling his way down the beginnings of old Spanish roads. Fucks sake, Ben thought, why does he have to be in love with a twenty-year-old child?

Ben knows he’s not going to catch up, he really can’t be bothered either. It’s only a five-minute ride back to their hotel, but really, who apart from Trent has the energy to race back after a double training session?

He tries his hardest to not think about Trent on the short ride back, unfortunately, it’s inevitable that Ben’s thoughts drift from counting the cracks in the cobblestones beneath his tires to counting how many times in the past three years he’s wanted Trent in a way he’ll never have him. He can’t help but feel a bit pathetic, especially given the fact the only person who knows about it all is his mum. Ben hadn’t been planning on telling anyone but call it mothers’ intuition, because on a visit home the summer he turned nineteen his mother had sat him down and quietly asked, with a knowing voice, “So how’s Trent?”.

Ben remembers spluttering in a less than attractive way, denying anything and everything before his mum took him by the shoulders, smiling and saying that she’d known he wasn’t straight since he was thirteen and came home gushing about Gerrard, and not just his footballing skills, and that it was perfectly alright. He’d stopped spluttering then, and begrudgingly told his mum that Trent was fine, thanks very much, he’d just spent the whole season pretty much as Liverpool’s first choice right-back for God’s sake. His mum had smiled then, told him that “You know that’s not what I meant, cariad.” Ben had, even more begrudgingly, told his mother that she should drop it because Trent was straight and nothing would happen, before avoiding her pitying gaze and stomping to his childhood bedroom like he was ten again.

Ben’s pulling up to the hotel by now, chuckling at the sight of Trent in front of the hotel doors, both kitbags in hand and waving to Ben as if he hadn’t seen him in months.

“Took ya time, slowpoke.” Trent grins as Ben jumps off his bike and pushes it to the bike racks, now full with all of his teammates own.

“Hardly,” Ben says dryly, “You’re just some sort of freak who doesn’t get tired after training.”

“It’s called working out, Ben,” Trent smiles, poking Ben’s biceps as he locks his bike, “You should try it out sometime.”

Ben wishes he could take offence, but he knows Trent doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and is just joking around with him, “I’m telling Hendo you’re bullying me.”

Ben stands up from where he’s crouched over his bike after locking it, and double checking, only to meet Trent staring at him with a look of horror gracing his features, and a hand placed over his chest.

“You wouldn’t.”

And for fucks sake, Ben giggles again.

“Maybe, guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“But Ben! I’m Liverpool’s angel!”

“Oh please, we all know you’re Liverpool’s devil.”

God, Ben thinks he could die happy having easy banter with Trent.

“Excuse me? That’s not what Sky Sports think.” Trent swats Ben’s ear as he speaks, leaving it to lightly rest on the nape of his neck. Ben wonders if Trent has any idea what he’s doing to him.

“Sky Sports are notoriously late at reporting news,” Ben replies, “If I say you’re Liverpool’s angel can we go eat dinner please? Before Hendo is actually mad at us.”

“Absolutely, just let me get out my phone to record it.” Trent says, and Ben’s favourite grin is back on his face.

Ben, however, is scowling, “No. No, nope, uh-uh. I’m going to go eat dinner and sit with someone else,” He speaks, wishing he even slightly meant it, “Devil.”

Trent laughs at him, with him, then removes his hand from Ben’s neck - thank fuck, Ben thinks – before moving it to hold onto Ben’s wrist. Ben’s about to full blown panic, is Trent holding his hand? Are him and Trent holding bloody hands? Cool, cool, cool, Ben thinks to himself, he’s just having his hand held by his one true love. No biggie. He’s certainly not going to freak out and give himself away to Trent.

But then Trent lightly tugs on his wrist, a smug look on his face and nods his head in the direction of the canteen, “Come on, let’s go. I don’t need you to say something I already know.”

All Ben can do is dumbly nod, because Trent has still got his hand clasped around Ben’s wrist and that’s he can concentrate on. And now Trent’s walking whilst tugging on his wrist, pulling him with him through the doors and into the canteen and all Ben can think about is how Trent’s hand feels around his wrist and how it would feel if Trent were pinning both his wrists above his head whilst kissing down his – Fuck.

Trent’s finally let go of his wrist, and Ben follows his arm with his hand as if lifelessly flops out of Trent’s hold to rest at his side. They must be in the canteen now because Ben can hear the familiar, comforting sound of his teammates and coaches chatter. His suspicions are confirmed when he finally looks up from his wrist, that now feels cold and lonely without Trent’s hold, and sees that they are indeed in the canteen. They must have taken a little longer than ten minutes because everyone is already sitting down with plates of food stacked in front of them. However, instead of eating they’re all looking up at Ben and Trent, as if waiting for an explanation of why they’re late.

Virgil is the first to break the silence, “So, what dark corner to make out in have you two been in?”

There’s good natured laughs throughout the room, even Trent snickers next to him, Ben wants to die.

Trent, never one to back down from teasing, is quick to reply, “Your wives not here, Virg, why would you know anything about dark corners to snog in?”

There’s even more loud laughing around the canteen now, and Ben swears he can even see the coaches table let out some chuckles. Ben figures he can’t really blame himself for falling in love with Trent, because not only is he hot and helpful and the nicest person alive but he’s also _funny_.

Virgil has his mouth open, ready to reply but Milner puts his hand on his shoulder and speaks up instead, “Now, now boys. No need to fight, let poor Trent and Ben get their food,” Milner smirks, “They’ll need if after the workout they just had.”

Ben doesn’t think his face could get any redder, and even Trent is looking a bit sheepish. As if they had actually been sneaking off to get off. They do as they’re told though and walk over to the buffet table to fill their plates before sitting on a table with the other younger lads, Hoever, Lewis and Christie. They give them teasing punches on their arms, laughing that they need to stop being exposed by Virgil. But they don’t mean it, Ben remembers all the time in the academy that would be spent talking about girls. Which cute ones had been in the stands watching that week, who’s girlfriend was the fittest, quiet conversations about how far they’d gone with a girl. Ben had always sat quietly during these conversations, only offering input when he hadn’t spoken for minutes and didn’t want suspicions raising, Trent though, he had been in full swing of it. Chatting about all the girls who followed him on Instagram after he made his senior debut, and the worst of all, how far he’d gone. Ben would usually excuse himself then, say he had school to study for, and then go home and try his hardest not to think about some fit girl feeling Trent up.

Ben’s quiet throughout dinner, and maybe his constant telling himself that he isn’t sad has stopped working because he’s feeling a little sorry for himself. Over Trent or over not being able to play football, he’s not too sure. Trent keeps nudging him whilst they eat, a silent ‘You okay?’ every time he does. Ben gives him a small, tight-lipped smile each time and then makes an effort to laugh at whatever Hoever is saying for the next few minutes before falling quiet again. No one else really seems to notice, for which Ben is thankful, and dinner is over soon enough with everyone gradually clearing out to make their way to their rooms to watch whatever Champions League game is on or call their wives and families back home.

Ben’s plate is still half full but he’s not hungry anymore, so he gathers up his plate and Trent’s near empty one and puts them on the to-be-washed table. Trent’s standing up by the table now, both their kitbags once again slung over his shoulder, and looking at Ben with a hint of concern. Ben feels a horrible need to cry.

“You sure you’re okay mate?”

“Yeah,” Ben clears his throat, knocking the lump in it back into his stomach, “Yeah. I’m good, just tired y’know?”

Trent nods, still looking a bit concerned but is smiling once again. Ben reckons he’d kill whoever dared wipe the smile of Trent’s face.

“You still up for FIFA though? Or are you too ‘tired’ for me to beat you?”

Ben smiles back now, walking over to Trent and yanking his own bag off Trent’s shoulder. “Seen as I’m going to win, definitely not.”

Ben begins to walk to the elevator, knowing Trent will only be a step behind, and presses the button for it to open. Ben was right about Trent because he manages to slide his way past Ben and is in the elevator before Ben has even noticed that the doors opened.

“You even lose with a head start, Benny!”

Ben steps into the lift, ready to start his protest, but Trent’s put his arm over Ben’s shoulder and now Ben swears Trent’s being this touchy-feely on purpose. He doesn’t tense under Trent’s arm, even though he sort of wants to, because when you’re a footballer you spend half your life in hugs from teammates and it’s easy to get used to. It does feel different when it’s Trent though, when it’s someone you want to hold you 24/7.

The lift pings that they’re at their floor before Ben can work himself into a panic over it, and Trent removes his arm from around Ben to get their key out of his trackie pocket. Ben follows him out the lift and waits by his side as Trent unlocks the door and walks into their room. It must have been cleaned whilst they were at training because both their beds are made and the clothes Trent had left on the floor when deciding what to wear this morning, they were just going to training for gods sake Ben had said, have been moved and folded into a neat pile on top of Trent’s bed.

Trent’s already setting up his PlayStation when Ben walks over to his own suitcase, because who unpacks for a four-day trip, and is pulling out a pair of soft pyjama pants and a long sleeve t-shirt in four sizes too big.

“I’ll just be a minute.” Ben says, walking to their shared bathroom. Trent gives him a thumbs up and continues plugging the HDMI into the hotel TV.

Ben really is just a minute, because he hadn’t done his hair that morning and he can’t remember the last time he actually stuck to his proper skincare routine and didn’t just splash some warm water over his face. He rolls up the sleeves on his t-shirt, just so they don’t get in his way when holding a controller and dumps his gross training clothes in their dirty clothes pile in the corner of the bathroom. The bathroom had not been cleaned.

When Ben leaves and walks back into their main room Trent has finished setting up the PlayStation and is wearing his own sleeping clothes, worn pyjama bottoms and an even more worn Nike t-shirt. Ben, once again, wants to kiss him. He passes a controller to Ben as he sits down cross legged next to Trent.

“I bagsy being Liverpool.” Trent says, and Ben thinks he’s exaggerating his scouse accent just to prove loyalty.

“That’s not fair!” Ben whines, barely feeling embarrassment at his tone, “I’ve also been here since I was a kid.”

Trent giggles softly, “Okay, okay. I mean, I have been here for three years longer,” Ben flicks his arm at this, “but I suppose we can play as England and Wales instead.”

Ben nods at this and begins to make his team selection.

“I assume you’re picking Walker as right back over yourself?” Ben smiles, looking over at Trent who’s looking back at him with a smile.

And okay, Ben thinks, that banter went down surprisingly well. Or not – because next thing Ben knows the controller is knocked out of his hand, whilst he was in the middle of swapping Aaron Ramsey in, and Trent’s pushing him down on the bed until he’s straddled on his hands and knees over Ben. Shit, shit, shit is the only mantra Ben can repeat in his head. He’s too old for play wrestling that doesn’t lead to kissing. And this won’t.

“Excuse me? Who’s got more assists this season?” Trent’s grinning above him, “Who scored a beauty of a free kick?”

Ben wants to join in the joke, the teasing, but he can’t. Really, he can’t. Not with Trent above him, looking down at him with a smile gracing his beautiful face and his slightly too small t-shirt riding up to show the muscles carved onto his stomach. Ben would say he has quite strong willpower, especially when it comes to Trent, but this is too much.

“Stop.” Ben says firmly, with only a hint of a tremor seeping through, before lightly pushing Trent off from above him.

Trent goes easily and ends up sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Ben who’s now pushed himself up and has his eyes firmly trained on the ground. Ben doesn’t think he can do this anymore, Trent’s been smiling and laughing with him all day and that’s normal and he can deal with it but Ben doesn’t think he can deal with all the hugging, and friendly touching anymore. He’s so goddamn tired.

“Ben?” Trent says lightly, reaching a hand over to rest it on Ben’s shoulder but Ben moves out of the way just as Trent’s hand reaches him and pushes himself off the bed.

“I said stop, Trent.” Ben knows his voice is all tremor now, “ _Please._ ”

Trent looks at him quizzically, his hand still mid-air as if it’s waiting to rest on Ben. Ben wishes he hadn’t looked at Trent because now he knows he’s going to end up telling Trent everything and sub-sequentially ruin their friendship.

“Okay,” Trent’s stood up now too, but is still a few steps away from Ben as if he’s some scared animal, “I’m sorry. I’m not exactly sure what for but, I’m sorry.”

Ben begins pacing up and down the three meters of room he as access to without bumping into Trent. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he doesn’t think he can stay just being best friends, Ben thinks maybe he’s selfish but he’s so tired of pretending that he’s fine with just being Trent’s best pal, he’s so tired of pretending all these meaningless touches to Trent don’t have meaning to him.

“No, I-” Ben begins, quiet and unsure, “I’m sorry. It’s my problem not yours.”

Ben’s stopped pacing now and is standing at the foot of his own bed, Trent attentively takes a step towards him.

“What problem? What’s wrong?” Trent’s voice gets closer and closer until he’s standing right in front of Ben and Ben’s forced to move his eyes from his socked feet to Trent’s

Ben sighs, “You’re gonna hate me.”

Trent lets out a startled laugh, “Not going to happen, but go on. I’m all ears.”

Ben takes in a deep breath, and he can’t believe he’s about to tell Trent he likes him, _like_ likes him. Ben can only hope the best-case scenario of Trent feeling awkward with him for a while but eventually getting over it and going back to as normal as possible happens. Ben can’t think of the worst-case scenario of Trent looking at him disgusted and never talking to him again.

“So,” Ben begins, “I know this might ruin our friendship or whatever, and I know you don’t feel the same way and that’s completely fine! But, uh, yeah I sort of like you more than a friend and all that.”

Ben’s dropped his gaze back to the floor, so he doesn’t have to see Trent’s reaction.

“Ben,” Trent says carefully, and that’s it Ben thinks, time for Trent to let him down, “Ben, look at me you idiot.”

Ben doesn’t want to, but it sounds as if Trent’s letting him down easily so Ben thinks he might as well give Trent the common decency to look at him when he does. Ben was expecting a sad, pitiful look, even a look of slight disgust but he’s surprised to be met with Trent’s eyes smiling down at his.

“God,” Trent exclaims, his grin leaking into his voice, “Are you being for real?”

“Uh, yeah? Is that, is that okay?” Ben replies, not smiling yet but getting more hopeful the longer Trent’s grin stays on his face.

“Yes! Ben, god, yes. It’s more than okay.”

Trent’s looking at him with that look again, the one from earlier, and now Ben’s just plain confused. Surely Trent doesn’t mean, he couldn’t mean that he likes Ben too could he?

“Do you,” Ben starts, but can’t finish because Trent is moving his hand to cup Ben’s cheek and all his dreams are coming true.

The kiss is short and sweet, tentative even, and it’s everything Ben has ever wanted since he was sixteen. Trent pulls back slightly, his body now pressed up to Ben’s, but leaves his hand resting on Ben’s face as he lightly strokes up and down his cheekbone.

“Wow.” Ben breathes out, stunned.

“Yeah,” Trent agrees, “Wow.”

Ben lets out his third giggle of the day, his whole face lighting up in happiness, and Trent’s soon to follow. Leaving them in each other’s arms, giggling like school kids.

“I had no idea,” Trent says, voice a little shaky, “That you had feelings for me.”

Ben shakes his head, still in utter disbelief. He honestly can’t believe this is happening, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Trent could like him too when he was running through the best outcomes of telling Trent in his head. Ben’s not even sure this is really happening.

“Nor me, obviously, or I would have had my slight mental breakdown sooner.”

Trent laughs, a beautiful, loud laugh, and it doesn’t pain Ben like it usually would because now Ben has forever to make Trent laugh.

“Sorry if I was too much today, you know with holding your hand and stuff. Just sometimes pretending that you were just a mate to me got a bit much.” Trent says sheepishly, ducking his head as the both sit down on Ben’s bed.

So, it _was_ hand holding, Ben thinks.

“No!” Ben says, maybe a bit loudly because Trent laughs once again, “No, it’s fine, I mean, it’s more than fine. Especially now that we’re, well, together?”

Trent’s face lights up in the most stunning way, and Ben really must be dreaming because he pulls Ben into another kiss. This one is definitely not tentative or short, but it’s still sweet. It’s Ben who pulls away this time, just as Trent’s licking his bottom lip lightly, his face flushed and smile firmly fixed to his face.

Trent looks at him in wonder, “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

“Hey!” Ben says, pretending he’s offended that Trent’s called him pretty and that it hasn’t created a butterfly farm within his stomach.

“But you are!” Trent replied indignantly, resting his forehead on Ben’s.

Ben can’t help but smile harder and peck Trent lightly on his full, slightly red lips.

“So, boyfriend, how long have you been harbouring your undying love for me?” Trent says, and Ben’s glad they can fall back into their usual banter so easily, even if it has a slightly different subject matter.

Ben groans, “Relationships are founded on honesty according to all and any movies so, I’m going to be honest and say since I was sixteen.”

“Fuck off,” Trent says, a disbelieving look on his face, “You fancied me when I was a skinny seventeen year old?”

“Weird flex,” Ben mutters, “You’re supposed to be focusing on the fact I’ve been suffering in silence for three years not that you’ve gotten fitter.”

“Aw,” Trent jokingly coos, earning a glare from Ben, “Well, if it’s any constellation I, too, have been suffering in silence for about two years.”

This makes Ben drop his mouth open slightly in surprise, two years? Him and Trent had mutually pined for two years and they’d only just sorted it out?

“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long, that’s actually poor from us.”

Trent grins at him, “You’re right. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah, like what?” Ben flirts, and it’s easy. It’s just as easy as it’s always been to talk to Trent.

“Well, for starters, two years’ worth of teenage dates to the cinema to make out in the back row. Not to mention the awkward conversations with parents.”

Ben feels a little rush go through him and the prospect of making out with Trent, “By parents I assume you mean Hendo and Milly?”

“Obviously,” Trent deadpans, before bursting into laughter. “We have to get the Liverpool squad seal of approval.”

Ben’s not worried about that, he knows the whole squad will be fine with it. More than fine probably judging by their jokes in the canteen.

“I’m really happy you like me too, Trent.”

Trent’s giving him that look again, but Ben knows what it means now, it does mean love, “How could I not?”

Ben swears Trent’s sweet talk is going to be the death of him, “Shut up and kiss me and then beat me in FIFA like you always do.”

And that’s exactly what Trent does.


End file.
